Influenza
by dragonpearlz
Summary: An influenza epidemic is sweeping through France, killing most in its path. ValJean has contracted the disease and it is ravaging his system. Cosette cares for her papa, while Javert continues to go to work. Both do all they can to make ValJean feel better. But, will they fall in his stead? ValJean/Javert Sneezefic Sick!fic
1. ValJean Has Fallen

The light in the bedroom glowed with a dim ambiance that cast eerie shadows over the rest of the room. The sun had long since set, but the air in the room was oppressive with the stuffy heat of prolonged fever lamp oil.

ValJean lay in the bed, his hair sweat soaked as heavy breaths were forced from his body. Although the air around him was warm, he shook with chills. Covered securely under just about every blanket in the house, he felt his shift stick to him uncomfortably.

He hadn't recalled waking up, nor falling asleep. In fact, every moment of the past week - _had it been a week?_ – was fuzzy, as though he were in a dream.

"Hah-Etchhsshhaa!" he sneezed wetly. Brown eyes closed against the pounding in his head and he choked against a wet sniffle. Tickles exploded in his sinuses and he struggled to lift his hand to his face. "Hessshhaaa! Epsshooo!" Throaty coughs worked their way out and he winced against the pain as he tilted his head to see around the room. It was dark. Night. Javert would be at work. Cosette was probably asleep.

A rustling.

Tired eyes fluttered as he strained to hear it. A door? Stairs?

A gentle breeze pushed its way through the window, which had been left open a crack.

Tired eyes drifted closed.

He groaned against the headache that was throbbing behind his temples. A tickle formed in back of his throat. He coughed harshly and cursed that which he had offended so deeply to make him so ill. The physician had been out earlier in the week. He had watched meekly as his daughter wrung her hands and cast concerned looks to Javert, who had stood there stoically – so handsome in his uniform and listened attentively as the doctor gave his diagnosis. Influenza.

It had been a particularly bad year for influenza deaths. Hardly a week went by without more news of more deaths. Families were being torn apart by the absence of loved ones. Whole families were being found dead in their homes.

During one of his many trips to dole out alms to the poor, ValJean had been struck down. He had felt his temperature rise as his vision swam before him. Nausea roiled through him and he only had one thought – _Get home_. He knew not how he was able to ride home so swiftly, but somehow he got there.

Cosette pushed the door open softly. "Papa, are you awake?" she asked. His sneezes would have woken her, had she been sleeping. But, sleep would not find her tonight. She had heard news of her good friend's brother contracting this dreaded illness and dying from it. She worried for her papa. And, she worried for Javert.

ValJean grumbled something unintelligible at her. Bleary eyes took her in as he worked to make them focus. The dim light in the room covered his precious angel in shadows and made his stomach contract with fear.

"Are you ill?" he whispered, his hoarse voice straining against the pain in his throat. He barked a cough, drawing up on himself as he felt the pain pass through him.

"No. I am well," she whispered, knowing that he had been suffering from a splitting headache for days. She sat down on the edge of the bed and soaked a hand towel in a basin of water. When the water was wrung out of it enough to stop the drips, she placed it on his forehead. She pressed down on his shoulder when he startled up and hushed him until he relaxed again.

"So cold," he said between the shivers.

"I know," she whispered, doing her best not to force a smile. He didn't want her pity. Only her love. And, right now her heart was sad. Granted, she was becoming happier every day he lived. Most were dying quickly – within a week of contracting the illness. Her papa was in the middle of his second week. He was miserable, but thankfully alive.

His face twitched and his hands struggled to free themselves from the confines of his blankets again. Eyes fluttering closed he worked to maneuver his chin so that he need not sneeze on his daughter. A look of panic crossed his drawn features as he realized that he was going to sneeze all over her. His stomach constricted at the thought of her being ill and he too sick to care for her. "Ah-hah-hah-," he gasped. Just as he was about to lose control of his body, he felt a handkerchief be held to the lower part of his face. "Ah-Ketsshhhaa! Heh-Etchooo! Effessshhh!" His face crashed into the handkerchief, which Cosette held there until his fit had passed.

Sweat rolled down his face as he shivered when she made room in the blankets for his hand to be freed. His sweaty hand moved over hers lightly, in an attempt to take the handkerchief. But, he was unable to grasp it before another fit barreled out of him. "Hah-Ooosshh! Esssshhhh! Hah-Hesshhh! Ugh… 'scuse me…" he groaned, finally releasing the hold on her hand to take the handkerchief into his own. He attempted to blow his nose, but it only wound up choking him and making his cough.

"Rest papa," she soothed, pressing a kiss to his sweat-soaked temple.

"I cannot. My… myy…. Eh-Eh-aheha-." He closed his eyes and tried to stay the sneeze. He was so tired of sneezing. So tired of coughing and hurting. His back hurt dreadfully and he found it difficult to do even the most menial tasks. But, the disease was stronger than he and he sneezed violently, "Ah-Hah-ETTTCHHHH!" Husky coughs gave way to a few smaller sneezes. "Heh-esshh! Essshh! Hah-Esssh!"

"Bless you," she said, gentle and blissfully cool fingers raked their way through his hair.

"Where's Javert?" he whispered. Humility upon humility, he found that his bladder was too full for him to fall back to sleep. Cosette had coaxed down what little broth and tea he was able to stomach, but it had a troublesome side effect. Up to this point, Javert had been able to assist him with the often messy affair of relieving himself. Although they were lucky enough to have indoor washrooms, he had only been stable enough on his feet to make it there a handful of times. The rest of the times he had been forced to use a chamber pot. But, even this menial task was too complicated for him to puzzle out on his own.

"Still at work. He won't be back for a few hours yet," Cosette explained. "Do you need something?"

He would not last a few hours. He contemplated the shame of soiling himself after a sneeze or asking her for the assistance he was beginning to desperately need.

"Chamber pot," he whispered as a wave of nausea flowed through him. The humiliation was enough for him to close his eyes against whatever look she deemed to give him.

Javert had prepared her for this. He explained how he had her father sit down and arranged the pot beneath his shift. It sounded dreadfully complicated in order to make the process not be messy. But, she would clean up after him if necessary.

She moved a chair over to the bed and heled him sit up and shift over to it. She set up the chamber pot as instructed and averted her eyes in order to give him a bit of privacy. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders as he leaned into her hip for support and stroked his shoulder absently with her thumb. The smell of urine filled the room.

Suddenly, she felt her papa tense under her hand. She held onto his shoulder and held her breath. The sound of the chamber pot filling continued, even through his desperate intake of breath. It continued as he huffed and worked to suppress the sneeze that had locked him in a battle of wills.

"Shhh," she soothed, holding onto him and hoping that by knowing she was there, it would give him strength against the disease.

The sounds of urination ceased and he gasped and huffed as the sneeze started to overpower him.

Deftly, she reached down and removed the chamber pot, pushing it to the side as he lost the fight to the sneezing. "Heh-ETCCHHH! Hah-ETCCCHH! Hah-ESSHHH! ESSSHHH! EESSHHH! Hah-Ak…SHOOO!" The violent sneezes barreled out of him and nearly sent him crashing to the floor. He gasped as he held onto the arms of the chair, desperate to maintain any sort of dignity.

He felt Cosette right him in the chair and set to cleaning off his face. Hot and humiliated, he was too weak to care and fell asleep where he sat.

CHAPTER 2

"How is he?" Javert asked as he came in the door. He was surprised that Cosette was awake and hoped that it meant that her father had been recently awake as well.

"Weak, exhausted… ill…" Her eyes grew distant. "But, alive. He asked for you."

Javert nodded once, straightening his uniform jacket after hanging up his greatcoat. That was an improvement. During the more delirious days of the fever, he had not known where he was or who anyone else was. "Did he recognize you?"

"Yes, but he called me by the wrong name," she said, leading Javert into the kitchen so that she could make him some tea before he went to bed.

"Who did he call you?" Javert asked, honestly curious.

"His angel," Cosette answered. It was Javert's nickname for her. Her papa never used it.

Javert visibly stiffened before nodding once. That was _his_ name for Cosette. And he didn't particularly like sharing it. Not even with her father.


	2. The Seeds of Epidemics

CHAPTER 2

"How is he?" Javert asked as he came in the door. He was surprised that Cosette was awake and hoped that it meant that her father had been recently awake as well.

"Weak, exhausted… ill…" Her eyes grew distant. "But, alive. He asked for you."

Javert nodded once, straightening his uniform jacket after hanging up his greatcoat. That was an improvement. During the more delirious days of the fever, he had not known where he was or who anyone else was. "Did he recognize you?"

"Yes, but he called me by the wrong name," she said, leading Javert into the kitchen so that she could make him some tea before he went to bed.

"Who did he call you?" Javert asked, honestly curious.

"His angel," Cosette answered. It was Javert's nickname for her. Her papa never used it.

Javert visibly stiffened before nodding once. That was _his_ name for Cosette. And he didn't particularly like sharing it. Not even with her father. "Mine," he whispered, a territorial bent in his voice.

She gently grasped his shoulder. "Yes, yours," she said seriously. The man was difficult to get to know and even more difficult to teach to trust. He loved her like a daughter and defended her like an angel. She waited until he looked at her, a slow exhale causing his shoulders to relax.

A confident hand rested over hers and he held her gaze. "Thank you," he said, his voice strong with the confidence of the city's most notorious inspector.

"Would you like me to make you a light dinner?" she offered, when the moment had passed.

"No, thank you, my dear. It was a … difficult night. I am tired." He had spent most of the night chasing this person or that. He was well and truly spent and wished nothing more than to sleep away the edge of the night.

"A light soup then? Please Javert, just a bit." Her lips set in a fine line of concern as she worked to encourage but not coerce him into eating.

A curt nod and then he sat down stiffly. "Thank you." He wished he could pay attention to Cosette. Truly, the young lady deserved it. But, he was still thinking about his long night and, as he watched the first tendrils of light creep in through the windows, he was starting to think about ValJean.

The young woman was not one to complain, often choosing to put her concern into caring for another. But, someone needed to care for her. Someone needed to make certain that she did not fall victim to this illness. He took a sip of the tea that she placed in front of him and closed his eyes as the liquid warmed him. _Greying bodies that had begun to rot littered the streets. Satchels of herbs and nearly empty bottles of opium had been cast aside and trampled on. Coffins, some stood up, some lying down, yawned open as the bodies inside them rotted, filling the air with a noisome stench. With this sort of carnage, people had begun raiding the homes of the deceased. He had tried to return items to their rightful owners. He had tried not to step on the bodies, not even the ones reaching towards him as they entered their final stages of death, their limbs twisting as the writhed on the ground begging for God to be merciful._

A hand on his shoulder roused him from his thoughts as he felt the teacup be pulled away from him and heard it be set back in the saucer with a clatter.

"I shouldn't have made you stay up. Rest, Javert. Look in on, papa if you must, but please get some sleep. I'll look on you in a while."

He steeled his heart against the horrors of the night. "No, I am… all right." Brown eyes turned towards the woman who he called an angel. "Are you well, Cosette?" He was really curious to know.

"As well as can be expected," she answered honestly. "I'll need help repositioning my father before you go to sleep." At his confused look she continued on, "He fell asleep sitting up after … um… urinating… this evening." A small blush rose in her cheeks.

"Indeed," he said with a nod. His eyes started to drift closed again, despite his best attempts to keep on the alert.

"Javert, go. Rest. I'll make you your afternoon meal when you awaken."

The two of them ascended the steps at a slow methodical rate. "Are you certain you're up for helping me move him?" she asked, concerned about Javert's health after such a long night.

A curt nod was his only answer and one that she was grateful to receive.

After they arranged ValJean back on the bed, Cosette stayed to settle his symptoms. Fever raged within him as though it was going to boil his blood. She countered it by bathing his face and neck with the rewet cloth. He coughed and groaned as he teetered between asleep and awake, so she hummed gently at him and whispered soothing blessings to him. A few dry sneezes worked their way out, so she cleaned him up and pressed kisses to his forehead. Gentle hands rubbed up and down his arms so that he would know that he was not alone. It took the better part of an hour, but he settled into a new rhythm of sleep.

As soon as he started to snore, she smiled and closed the curtains, blocking out the distracting rays of the sun. She checked in on Javert, who was sprawled out on the guest bed, his face mashed into the pillow. She sniffed the air for any sign of illness, but it appeared that he was only extremely tired when he came home. For that she was grateful. Finally, she tucked herself into bed, knowing that caring for herself was nearly as important as any care that she could provide for her papa.

As the sun rose, splaying its bright rays of new beginnings over the countryside, the household finally slept.


	3. Promise Me

When Cosette awoke from her nap, she stretched and looked out the window. A lark had landed on her windowsill and was singing her a sweet song. She smiled, blue eyes fluttering closed as she took in the tranquil contrast to the life she had been living as of late. It was good to remember that although a killer was slowly spreading through France, nature was consistent in its beauty.

She walked down the hallway slowly, listening to her papa's deep snores. She smiled at the thought that he was still smiling. The man needed it. She had sent word to the physician when his fever spiked the day before. Generally, she would have heard back by now. She hoped that nothing had befallen the doctor.

Suddenly, the snoring stopped. She was about to walk into his room when she heard quiet voices begin to talk. Her father spoke through some chesty coughs and she heard a glass being filled with water.

She leaned her head on the wall and closed her eyes, focusing on the voices in the room.

Javert was sitting in the chair. He wore his uniform, though had tugged the sleeves up just a bit in order to give ValJean more of a hand to hold on to, should the man wish it. It pained him to see his companion so ill, the fear of losing him to this epidemic filling his chest with grief to the point that he thought it might burst. He wished that he could climb into bed beside him and hold him like they had done so many times in the past. But, this time the doctor said that he needed to be left in the bed on his own in order to prevent Javert taking ill as well.

Grief-stricken brown eyes looked up when ValJean's snoring stopped.

"When you look at me like that, it's as though I'm already dead."

The truth of the statement made Javert wince. He blinked. When he opened his eyes and the grief was gone. Only the strong, predatory demeanor that he was professionally known by remained. "Well we can't have that, now, can we?" he remarked, his voice cold, but there was some gentle play in the words.

"You're dressed early," ValJean remarked. Or was it late? Truthfully it didn't matter. Javert was always strikingly handsome in his uniform and even through his fevered haze, ValJean enjoyed looking at him.

"No." Javert answered with a shake of his head. "In fact, it's already after noon. I slept a bit later than I had planned."

Knowing that Javert's sleep schedule was tenuous, at best, a concerned look crossed ValJean's face. "Are you ill?" he breathed. He hoped not. This disease had made him miserable for many days now. But, he would endure it twice more if it meant that he could spare Javert and Cosette its wrath.

"No." At least he didn't feel ill. However, he could not question ValJean's deductive reasoning. Javert had never slept particularly well. Most nights, he would only get a handful of hours of sleep – five at the most. For him to sleep over six hours was highly irregular. "But, I do have something for you," he said, reaching over to the night stand. He poured a shot of brandy for his companion and handed it over. "Drink." It had been a promotion gift many years prior. He did not believe in drinking alcohol unless ill or societal norms dictated that he must, so it had remained untouched.

ValJean looked Javert over curiously. Often one to speak out against the use of alcohol, he would never have assumed that this offer would come from Javert. He sniffed the brandy and his eyes widened. "How could you afford this on your salary?" he asked, knowing that the vintage and craftsmanship of the brandy was not typically affordable. It was only on rare occasions that he had even been able to taste such a fine beverage.

Javert's face fell. "I did not steal it, if that is what you mean!" he snapped. "Just drink it." He had heard the women talk about home remedies for this precocious flu and they had all said that brandy would help bring up the chest congestion. Since the ipecac and hot mustard packs that Cosette had tried had yet to produce anything helpful, he thought he would give it a try.

"I did not mean to imply…" And then the thought was lost. What had he meant to imply? Had not… had… "HAR-ETCCHHH!" he sneezed violently, barely being able to put the shot glass down in time.

"Bless you. Drink."

ValJean gasped for breath. There was another sneeze lurking in there, he could feel it. Quicly, he drank the shot and felt the coldness of the alcohol spread throughout his fevered chest. "Ahh…. Ahhh? Hah-EH-Hah-Stchooo! EHstthhhoo! Hasshooo! Ugh." A few more breaths squeezed out before productive cough emanated from his body. They were so strong that he, unable to do so himself, had to rely on Javert to sit him up and support his shoulders until the fit passed.

ValJean took a breath of unrestricted air – the first in weeks. "Thank you. With medicine like that, I'll hardly need the doctor."

Javert nodded once, the sting of the suggestion that he may have stolen the alcohol still fresh in his mind. Brown eyes were guarded as he made the mental note to tell Cosette not to summon the doctor, as he had passed the day before. He huffed a small sigh. The constabulary was already pressed for time and man power before the outbreak of this infernal disease. Worse yet was the fact that they had been called in to help tally the death records. As doctors fell, they were being called on to record the names of the fallen.

His stomach twisted in knots as he feared for ValJean. Without him, Javert's life would hold little meaning. He was a servant of God and of the prefecture of Paris, that much was certain. But, ValJean made him feel like a man, a person.

"Javert," ValJean said, pulling him from his thoughts. His voice but a strained whisper. "Promise me something." His hand reached out for Javert.

Javert's stomach constricted tighter. Promises were part of the death cycle. He had seen it many times during his tenure in France's Royal Military. "I will make you no promises, Jean," he said, his voice harsh and his eyes stern.

ValJean blanched and became green around the corners of his mouth. Javert moved steadily, with the grace of a man of the military, in order to get him an empty basin.

"No… please…" ValJean begged. "Please take care of Cosette in my absence. Someone must care for her."

"I care not for her the way you do. Nor could I," was the harsh reply.

Cosette gasped in the hallway and a hand flew to her mouth to cover the sound. She had known for many years that Javert merely tolerated her. But, the fact that she would be cast out to fend for herself in the case of her father's death had never occurred to her.

Javert's head turned towards the door and it was his turn to blanch as he realized that their beautiful ward had heard his ugly remark. "That is that I cannot care for her the way you do… it is not in me to do so. But, I will make certain that she is clothed and fed and safe." As he assured the older, ailing man of this he wondered how he would keep Cosette in the manner to which she had become accustomed. His salary was decent, but meager in comparison to that of his companion. He briefly wondered if he could ever make Cosette as content as her father. He suspected not.

ValJean nodded at Javert as his eyes grew tied and blurry again. While a few minutes of conversation was an improvement on the past few weeks, he was not improving at any accelerated rate.

Checking over his shoulder to make certain Cosette was not watching, Javert awkwardly pulled the covers up to ValJean's chest.

"Hup-Pllessshewww!" The sneeze detonated, quite unexpectedly from the mostly unconscious man and, even though he had moved a bit to get out of the way, part of it sprayed Javert's uniform and neck.

"Ugh!" he cried, pushing himself back from the bed. He left the room, quite unceremoniously, cursing himself for doing woman's work. It was Cosette's job to care for her father. She should have been there, not he.

He found her looking in the pantry for something, though how she would find it without moving was quite beyond him. "Cosette," he barked, his voice commanding as though he were speaking to one of his subordinates rather than his ward.

She turned quickly. Her eyes were red rimmed and her nose pinked.

He rolled his eyes. "God's teeth!" he swore. "Are you ill now too?" He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. The fact of the matter was that had he been in better spirits, he would have been surprised It took so long.

"No," she responded, her voice hoarse due to the tears she was repressing and the sound congested before of the tears she had already cried.

His eyes narrowed at her as though she was a rogue who was evading the law. In three quick strides, he bridged the space between them, pressing his hand to her face and neck. "You don't feel warm," he muttered.

"I am fine, Javert," she said, her voice stronger than she felt. "Come, I will make you a bit of lunch." She moved past him, trying not to sniffle or let the unshed tears drop. She had looked in the pantry to see what she could start squirreling away for her own usage. If she were to be cast out, she did not want to go hungry… her things she could pack in trunks and over the next few days she would figure out where she could go.

Javert had earned his position for his deductive reasoning. Were he foolish enough to believe Cosette, it would mean that he was blind to the clues before him. Something was wrong with her. He knew that if it was the flu, she would be highly feverish before he left for work. It she was telling him the truth and was not ill, he needed to figure out what would cause her such symptoms.

"I know I am not your father," he said, as she served him. In fact, he knew that ValJean was not her father, but since that was the role that he so desperately insisted on filling, the difference between him being a guardian and ValJean being in the father role was long since determined. "But," he continued on, "I encourage you to speak to me about anything that may be bothering you."

Eavesdropping with impolite, Cosette knew. She could not admit to what she had heard, lest she be chastised. So, with the ease of long practice she raised an eyebrow at Javert. "Nothing for you to concern yourself with. You have enough on your mind without concerning yourself with my petty thoughts."

Javert furrowed his brow as she mimicked him in all the ways he would never want her to – the slowly raised eyebrow, the distance she put between them with her words. Something was bothering her, of that he was certain.

"Your father seems to be improving," he said, taking a sip of his tea.

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank the heavens," she said. "We won't need to call on the doctor again."

He paused. "Cosette, the doctor has passed…" he told her, hoping the news would keep her from expecting a house visit, but not scare her.

"God rest his soul," she responded, crossing herself.

"Indeed," he said. "You are doing an admirable job caring for your father."

"Thank you," she responded. "I know he values the time you are able to spend with him as well." Crystalline blue eyes shifted to the side.

Her lack of eye contact was disturbing. ValJean did not believe in raising a subservient daughter. While her younger years had instilled that sort of mindset in her anyway, he had taught her to make eye contact – even with the men. She knew how to speak her mind, even if she did not do it very often.

Realizing she was not going to discuss with him what she heard he sighed. "Please know that if your father… does not recover, you will have a place with me. I will not cast you out to become a fallen lady like your mother."

The statement hung in the air between them.

Cosette's eyes narrowed. "My mother worked at a rosary factory. Papa's in fact. It's how they knew each other. And, where she asked him to come for me before she died.

He closed in eyes slowly. How could he have forgotten that ValJean had never told Cosette the whole truth? From her perception, his words would seem spiteful, hateful even.

"I'll thank you not to disparage my mother, who gave up everything to see to my safety," she told him matter-of-factly.

Although his sense of balance and truth was altered by the lie that she had been lead to believe. He also knew that it was not his place to change that fact. Especially not now when the fate of her father was still unknown to them. "My apologies. I must not be feeling like myself."

Cosette looked him over slowly. "Are you well, Javert? You haven't been struck by the disease, have you?" she asked gently.

"No. I am not ill. But, thank you for your concern. Merely weary."

"Work must be very difficult," she said, trying to change the topic.

"My work is always very difficult," he all but snapped. "This epidemic merely adds a new obstacle." Or two.

"Like what?" she asked, unwilling to let him bottle everything inside. If her papa would not be there to be his friend and support, she would have to step in.

"Like things you should not concern yourself with," he answered. "Worry about your father. Do you not worry yourself about me."

"How can I not? You are not my papa, but you are my guardian. And friend." She sucked in a breath after adding the latter part.

"I am your father's friend and companion," he snapped. "I am your guardian because of him. Make no mistake, were it not for him you would not know me." This was a lie. One that someday he knew he would have to ask her forgiveness for. He had known of her when she worked at the Thenardier's. Granted, he did not know who her mother was until after she did. He did not know the part that her mother, ValJean, or Cosette would play in his life until years after he confronted the man at Fantine's bedside.

"Yes, sir," she responded like a chastised child. Her voice no longer held the strength that it had only moment before.

"Cosette, I…" He did not know what to say. He did not feel that an apology was in order, as he had spoken the truth. But, his words were misleading and she did not wish him to think that he did not care for her at all.

"No need," she said, forcing a smile. "So long as I will not be cast out before my courtship, I'm sure we could make something work,' she said, her voice devoid of any emotion.

"That I can promise you," he said. He could not explain the cold sensation that suddenly spread over his body. Although the conversation had maneuvered through his sense of balance and truth, he felt like he had done an injustice to the young lady before him. Unfortunately, without identifying exactly what it was, he knew he would be unable to right it. So, he simply sipped his tea in silence.


	4. A Mercy Killing

Shadows threw eerie orange and yellow shadows over the room and emanated small pockets of heat. The fire crackled steadily in the fireplace, filling the room with a slight haze of smoke. Cosette had covered her father with as many blankets as she could spare, including all but one of her own, yet the man was still trembling as beads of sweat condensed on his skin.

She had bathed him in cool water for hours, gently rubbing the cloth over his face, neck, and chest, but his fever climbed steadily into the night.

Unclear, confused eyes looked at Cosette as he huffed out a few congested coughs. "Where's Javert?" he asked, his voice hoarse and panicked.

"He's still at work," she answered, tears welling in her eyes. Her papa was a brave man – a strong man. But, at this moment, he was weakened beyond what she could handle. She wished Javert was home as well. She would do anything to have him by her papa's side.

"I always loved you, Cosette. From the moment I saw you in the woods." Harsh coughs, which seemed to get caught in his chest, took over for a moment. He coughed them into a barely closed fist and tears came out of his eyes as he squeezed them closed.

"And I you, papa," she whispered, hoping that Javert really would take care of her. She was years from a courtship and there was little she could do in the way of work – unless it was to become a made or perhaps a cook for one of the wealthier aristocracy.

"Hettsssheeww!" He sneezed wetly, as the sneeze nearly folded him in half. He gasped for air afterwards, and Cosette sat on his bed in order to hold him up as Javert had done countless times over the past few weeks.

"Heh – eh? Atcchhh! Ewsssh! Etccsshh!" He sneezed into a cupped hand and went to fell back onto his pillows, his large frame being too heavy for her to hold up on her own.

"Promise me you'll be good to him," he implored as his eyes drifted closed again. "Care for him, Cosette. He will need you."

"Papa, what are you saying? You'll be well in no time."

"Promise me you won't let him chase you off. He may try… may be hostile. You know how he can get." He panted as his breath grew short. "He'll keep you safe, Cosette. Keep him healthy, loved… " With that he was asleep.

Large tears slide down Cosette's pale cheeks as she started to wipe the sweat from his face,

** Les Mis**

When Javert came home, he sprinted up the stairs. So many more people were dying that the prefecture had declared a state of emergency. The constabulary were called to arms and were given a short recess in which to gather any personal affects they had which may assist them in warding off the hoards of desperately ill people. Some were saying it was the worst epidemic to hit France since the plague centuries before.

He knew that it was likely that he would be struck down – if not in illness than with violence - and he wanted to give his companion and daughter some warning. Someone else would need to care for Cosette. She was a bright girl, articulate and versatile. Certainly someone would take her in.

His heart softened for just a moment when he came into their bedroom and saw Cosette asleep in the chair. Her face relaxed made him remember how you she was. Her father's cheeks were fever stained, but the area around his mouth was a sickly shade of green.

He quietly knelt down next to his love and shook his shoulder until he awoke.

Tired, unfocused eyes blinked slowly at Javert.

"Jean, I have to go," Javert whispered without any tact.

"Go? Where?" ValJean croaked, his voice scratching and the words slurred and slow.

"I must protect Paris. The prefecture has called a state of emergency. The hordes are getting worse and we've been called to arms."

"Javert, you promised… me…" His eyes drifted to Cosette, curled into a ball, asleep in the chair. "Don't leave her to fend for herself."

"Then you'd best get better," Javert said, squeezing Jean's shoulder just a bit.

Jeans' eyes rolled into his head and he closed his eyes.

"Javert… don't leave her," he whispered. "Now go. I'll hold on until you get back… not a moment more."

Tears sprang into Javert's eyes. "No, Jean. She needs you. You can't leave her."

"My choice to leave is not in my hands." Dark eyes roamed over Javert. "Like yours." He looked back at Cosette. "Be kind… slit her throat."

Javert's eyes widened with distress. To kill someone was an offense against God. But, to kill a child? He could not. He would not. Not ever. "No… you stay alive for her. I'll be back." Lying was easier than killing Cosette. He could never do such a thing. He blamed the ridiculous request on the severity of Jean's fever. He knew he would never even think such a thing otherwise.

** Les Mis**

Javert read his call to arms as he mounted his horse. He was being called to the Prefect's house, not the prefecture. _Odd_, he thought, but he started on the ride without delay.

It took most of the day for him to arrive, but he was happy that he was able to do so before nightfall. Having worked overnight and rode throughout the day, he was exhausted. Not one to be anything but professional, he vowed that he would not do Cosette and Jean shame. He had left his family in peril for this assignment. The least he could do was forgo sleep in order to perform admirably.

He was greeted at the door by the butler and brought directly into the parlor, where he was offered a place to sit and a cup of tea.

He turned down both, instead offering the butler his hat and coat. Clasping his hands behind him, he wondered how near death Jean was. Would Cosette know what to do with the body? Could she? He grimaced slightly at the thought of Jean's dead, rotting body still in the bed, while Cosette tried to continue living in the house. His stomach twisted as he thought about her leaving the house on her own.

She was fourteen. She wasn't a child, but she wasn't an adult. He had made the wrong choice. He should have chosen his family over his… No. His first loyalty was to his employ. Jean and Cosette knew that.

He heard steady foot steps come down the stairs. Turning, he clasped his hands behind his back. He tilted his head up as he worked to keep his features impassive. It seemed that the Senior prefect of Paris had not been immune to the disease. Although he was clad in his uniform, the man was obviously unwell. Pale and drawn, the man was practically asleep on his feet.

"Monsieur Prefect," Javert said with a curt bow. He held his hand out towards the sofa, indicating that his superior officer should.

The older man sighed heavily as he wordlessly took Javert up on the offer. "Please sit, Inspector." His voice was raspy, like Jean's had been.

With a slight nod as a thank you, Javert tugged up at the knees of his trousers and sat down in a nearby chair. "You are not well," he offered.

"Indeed." He sneezed stuffily into a well-timed handkerchief. He sighed and then continued. "This infernal disease seemed to have been sent by the devil himself. Sent to clear out Paris, it seems." After an erratic breath he sneezed heavily again.

"What do you propose we do under this state of emergency? Quarantines? They don't have a history of working. "

The Prefect nodded and made a thoughtful noise. "I must admit, Inspector, I have considered locking the lot of them in the taverns and churches and burning them to the ground."

The man was mad! Perhaps this hysteria was a symptom of the disease. Javert's thoughts went back to Cosette. What if she was truly in danger with Jean? _God protect the young one,_ he thought. He desperately wanted to go home and check on her. But, he was here now and so he had to do the job he was tasked to do – whatever that was.

"I take it from the expression on your face, you dis-disagree?" Another heavy sneeze.

"Indeed. The cold weather will come. And the disease will end as it is wont to do."

"It's la grippe, Javert. It kills the most in the winter. We have to end it."

Javert rubbed his forehead. "I will not burn a church."

"Well, you can burn the tavern," the Prefect said leaning back. He smiled darkly at Javert. "Unless of course you're willing to help the city in another way."

"Name it," Javert said, unwilling to simply kill people. He had done it in the past, of course. But, always in the line of duty. He didn't believe in killing for the sake of doing so. The disease was killing enough without their intervention.

A smirk appeared on the Prefect's face. "Stay with me as I recover. I'm certain it won't be long and then you can return to your… family." It was no secret that Javert returned home to prominent man who had a young girl. A feeling stirred in the Prefect and he knew that he could control the situation if only Javert would stay with him.

He would have rather stayed with Jean. What he had thought would be a tough day or two before he returned home – or not – suddenly stretched in a week before him. He wished he could check on Cosette. "Of course," he relented. The Prefect was known for his blood thirsty tactics. While not typically one for gossip, the stories continued for many years. He had learned from years of work that rumors often offered a grain of truth. In order to protect the city of Paris, he would stay.

"Well, you must be exhausted. I'll have Pierre show you to your rooms. Rest yourself. As you can see I am not without help. But, your particular way of thinking may be helpful in several other cases I am working on."

"Forgive me, but you seem…"

"Well? I assure you, I am not," the Prefect said. "That is I am over the worst of it, but I still tire easily and cannot stand for long lengths of time without reprecussions."

Javert nodded in understanding. "Forgive me. I meant no disrespect."

"None taken," the Prefect answered, standing with a groan. "I am certain that you are exhausted what with your ward taking ill so suddenly." He knew that it was the other man – Madaleine was it? – that had taken ill. But, Javert was not what one could consider a family man, so he wanted to see how the Inspector would react if he thought the ward took ill as well.

"It's been a trial," Javert said, his heart shaken with the idea of the young lady ill and trying to tend to her father. His family needed him. But this was his job – his boss. He had no choice but to stay. The only thing he knew he could do was pray for them. Pray for their health. Pray for their souls.

He awoke the next day, disoriented until he recalled where he was. He penned a quick letter to Jean and Cosette, letting them know that he was well and safe, but that his duties took him to the Prefect's summer home and that he would be back as soon as possible.

He rapped on the Prefect's bedroom door and entered when instructed to do so. A chair had been set up at the side of the lavish canopy bed. Long sage velvet curtains hung down and the Prefect sat up, leaning against many satin pillows. "Good morning, Javert. I trust you slept well?"

He had not. In fact, he had prayed look into the night. Prayed for the health of his companion and their ward. Prayed for his soul for making the poor, yet necessary choice to leave. Prayed for Jean's forgiveness of the same trespass. "Of course. Your generosity is appreciated, although I do not require such –"

"Nonsense! You are a guest in my house and as so you should be treated as one. Now, don't stand on such ceremony, please join me. We have much to discuss."

The conversation was an easy one and quickly moved from the current state of Paris to ongoing issues with the rabble to the economy, and finally to old times and strange stories from their military days. Although they had not served together, they served in the same battles and wars. They shared some of the same acquaintances and shared stories about their whereabouts and downfalls.

The conversation was punctuated with the Prefect's sneezing and coughing, but nothing so severe as what Jean had been suffering. Then it happened.

"You know… your companion is quite lucky to have you come home to him every night," the Prefect offered.

Javert merely grunted, unwilling to discuss his personal life with anybody.

"You know… he may be a prosperous man, but I can give you a better life. And one without a small child to care for."

Brown eyes snapped to attention as he stared at the prefect. Was the man getting at what it sounded like?

"Cosette is hardly small."

The Prefect nodded and started looking around the bedcovers for something. "Javert, could you tell me if you see my reading glasses. I am quite sure they were there this morning before you came in. But, I do believe I have lost sight of them."

Javert leaned over the bed to check for the man's glasses and suddenly found himself caught in a passionate kiss. It was wet and forceful. The prefect shoved his tongue nearly down Javert's throat as he pulled back.

"Sir! That is highly improper!" he retorted, trying to find a polite way to wipe the man's spit from his face, his mouth.

"Perhaps it is the fever. I do apologize. I don't know what came over me."

"I believe I should leave," Javert said, backing away from the bed. What had just happened? That was not only improper, but it was a sin. _Ah, but which sin?_ he thought. That one relating to lying with a man? He already did that regularly and had consulted with his priest about the depth of that sin, finally deciding that because it was in love, it was acceptable. Adultery? Although fidelity was certainly implied between he and ValJean, they had never discussed it. Nor were they married. He was confused, angry, and shamed.

"You cannot," the Prefect replied, his voice low and serious. "Your job is to stay here until I am well… to protect me as it were." His eyes darkened.

"I must go. You seem to be on the mend, and my ward needs care."

"Leave her with your partner. Oh yes… it is _he_ who is ill, isn't it?" His tone turned conversational. He was already aware of Madeleine's health issues. But, by now the child could be ill too. That would be simply delightful. While Javert had given the prefecture little to complain about, he was less vindictive and more likely to let a problem fade away than to chase it through Heaven and Hell since he had found the family. The man sniffled, brown eyes boring into Javert. "Your ward should be able to provide care, else why would you have left such a family?" He sneezed heavily into cupped hands.

"Then I will go to Paris. You have little need of me here," Javert said, pushing the chair back against the wall.

"You could not be more incorrect. Your keen and capable mind is what keeps you employed. As is your staying here. Abandoning your post will be taken as a formal resignation."

Javert froze. He was nothing without his job. It defined him. He could not return without it.

"Very well," he agreed, leaning against the wall. A few days wouldn't hurt and it would give him time to figure out how to handle the kiss. He would have to tell ValJean, of course. But, what of it? Were ValJean to kiss another man he would be furious.

"Come. Sit, Javert. Don't be so stoic. Don't be alarmed. I won't kiss you again," the prefect lied.

Hours later, Javert had in fact brought the chair back to the side of the bed. As the sun went down the Prefect's fever spiked and Javert found himself bathing his face and neck, not unlike what he had done for ValJean. He wished that he were home, taking care of his companion – of his ward. Javert was not known for his caring tendencies and felt that these should be shared with the people who he considered family – not a boss so far removed from reality that he couldn't make decent decisions regarding which convicts to pursue and which to leave well enough alone anymore. Laws seemed frivolous – as though they were based on whim and fancy more than keeping the peace.

Javert sighed. His nose had started to tickle a bit and he was irritable. He had his share of posts that he did not want. But, none that he loathed so much as this. He groaned against the dull ache in his temples. Putting the rag in the basin, he went downstairs to find himself some supper and a cup of tea.

When he came back up the Prefect was awake – an angry. "You left."

"Only to get a meal," Javert answered. His tone was short and the longer he was there, the less personable he wanted to be.

"I suppose. Was it to your liking?" the Prefect asked, pushing himself up into his pillows.

"Indeed. Your cook has quite a way about her." He stood at the edge of the bed and helped the man sit up comfortably.

"You should have a housekeeper, Javert. It isn't proper for two men of your stature to be alone with your young ward without a housekeeper. Do well here and you may wind up with a sizable raise in your income." He coughed heavily into his fist.

Deep eyes flashed at the Prefect. He did not like what was being insinuated. "I assure you that's not necessary," he said, brow furrowed in anger. They would never lay an angry – or otherwise – hand on Cosette. There was no cause for that sort of judgment.

Suddenly, Javert felt himself being pulled down. Hot and slimy the other man's tongue felt up his neck.

"No," he said, prying the man's hands off of his coat. He grimaced as the man fought back, losing his footing and having to put a knee on the bed in order to keep his balance.

The Prefect slide his mouth up the side of Javert's face. "You want this… you want to show your family that you can provide. Provide for me and I will assure that you can provide for them." With that he opened his mouth and shoved his tongue back in Javert's.

"Gah!" Javert cried as he pulled away. No, this wasn't right. It wasn't worth it. He started to leave.

"They won't take you back. Without your job, you are nothing. You can't contribute. They will cast you out. Stay with me and you can stay with them."

Javert left as though he had not heard. If this was considered abandonment of his post, he would take the lash, fine, and imprisonment. Without so much as putting on his greatcoat and hat, he saddled his horse and rode towards home.


	5. Javert Falls

Sweat slicked down Javert's face as he rode home as hard as he could. His stomach churned as he thought of what he had done – what he had lost. His job… respect… everything that he had worked his entire life towards. Without a job he couldn't earn a living. His stomach churned again as nausea roiled through him. He was lying to himself, he knew. His employ was important to him… it defined him. But, he had lost Jean. His companion and the one who showed him what it was to love even after a long life of the hollow darkness of loneliness.

Tears prickled at his eyes. This was not the way he wanted to return home – shamed, to be cast out. But, he had done the unthinkable. He was an adulterer – twice over. His breath constricted in his chest, causing him to gasp. His vision swam before him, although he knew not if it were due to his predicament or the nausea that filled him.

Light drops of rain pattered on his coat and he squinted up at the sky. Dark ominous clouds cloaked the sky and fat drops of rain started to fall.

He slowed the horse down to a safer speed and hoped that the storm would be quick. He had to get home. It was the only meaning in his body, the only thought in his head. He had to go home. It was safe there – at least until he confessed what happened. He knew that he could hide it and lie until the truth killed him, stole who he was and he was cast out anyway. It would buy him a few more years of safety, of warmth and love. But, the outcome would be the same and the betrayal would be greater because of the lie on top of it.

_Cosette._

His thoughts drifted to his ward. What if the Prefect had been correct? What if Cosette had fallen ill? How he would have found out, Javert couldn't tell. But, were it true… if she was ill, while Jean lay dying. Tears blinded him until he blinked them away.

He shouldn't have left. For once in his blessed life he should have stayed with his family – put someone else's well being over his own. Oh, he would say it was for the city, but protecting the city made him feel like he was important. His family could be dead by the time he returned. He had made the wrong choice.

He felt as though his body filled with coldness. Ice filled his veins as the rain felt like little knives pelting him. He felt as though they were lashes from God as they hit his face and neck.

A tickle filled the back of his throat and he belted out a harsh cough.

_Oh no. Not now_.

The headache. The exhaustion. The inability to foresee what the Prefect was going to do. He started to shake and willed himself to die. If he couldn't make it home, he was as good as dead anyway.

Several hours that if someone asked him to he would not be able to recall later, Javert's horse ambled into their yard. The poor animal was exhausted, but stood diligently as it waited for its rider to dismount. Javert had slipped in and out of consciousness throughout the ride. He leaned forward to dismount but was unable to do so and crumbled to the ground. He made a grunt of disdain, but was too weak with exhaustion and fever to do much about it.

His horse whinnied in response.

Cosette awoke with a start. She had taken a nap, certain that her papa was going to die and there was nothing she could do about it. Javert had gone to… somewhere. There was carnage in the streets, she was certain of it. Javert never stayed away for so long… not unless he was going on special assignment. With Javert gone and her papa dying, she had to find a way to make her way. The stress of it all was overwhelming and she found that sleeping it off was simply easier than coping with it.

She heard a horse whinnying. Knowing that hers and her papa's horses were in the stable, she jumped out of bed. Javert was home!

She gasped when she threw open the door and saw him. Not caring that she was still in her dressing gown and bare feet, she ran out to him. "Javert!" she called, falling on her knees next to him. She shook his arm and pulled her hand away quickly. He was burning up – the heat radiating even through his clothing.

Cool hands felt his forehead and cheeks. With the ease of weeks of practice, she felt the glands in his neck. Just as she had suspected: influenza.

Tears prickled her eyes. She couldn't get him inside on her own and her papa hadn't awoken since he had left.

"Javert?" she asked him, her soft voice too gentle to rouse him from the fever that kept him a prisoner of his own fevered dreams.

"Javert, please wake up for me. I have to get you in the house."

With much struggle, his eyelids pulled back and two fever glazed brown eyes stared at her. "Cosette?" he breathed, his voice but a wheeze that pushed through his chest.

"Yes. You are home. But, I need your help getting you inside," she explained diligently.

He looked around and felt the cold seeping in through his jacket. "Hur-Chuffffsshh!" he sneezed suddenly, the spray detonating over his legs.

"Bless you," she said quietly, her blessedly cool hands on his face and neck again. He leaned over towards her and let her cradle his neck and shoulders. Although he had called her his angel for several years now, the fact of it was now he felt as though she truly was an angel of mercy – pushing away this infernal disease with a single touch.

But, if only she had known what he had done. Brown eyes rolled back in his head and he dreaded the time when the truth would come out.

"No, no, no – I need you to be awake. I have to get you inside before it starts to rain again." And, she had to get the horse in the barn and fed and watered. She had to check on her papa and try to get the two men to eat, while not neglecting her own dietary needs.

He sniffled very wetly and looked at her again. Slowly, very slowly, he pushed himself up onto one elbow, sneezing again as the pressure in his head changed. Using her shoulder to balance, he stood. He was shaky on his legs and the world swam before him, leaving his heart pounding in his ears.

She clamped her hand on top of his. "Shhh, just take your time," she soothed. "I'll set you up in the parlor, until you are well enough to brave the stairs."

Moving him was a laborious affair, as he lost his balance and almost landed on top of her several times. Finally, each shuffling one foot in front of the other, they made it into the parlor, where Javert more fell than sat on the sofa.

"Come now," she said, softly, let's get you out of that jacket. It's wet and you'll catch your death." She realized after she had said it that she may have been too late.

He shivered violently as she unbuttoned his jacket.

"No… so cold," he said, pulling it closed again.

"I'll get you a blanket, but we have to get you out of those wet clothes. Please," she tugged the hem of his jacket and he let it go, clasping his hands over his mouth as he coughed harshly. "Hep-Ettcchhh!" He sneezed wetly. He removed his hands and looked at him as though he were utterly disgusted with what had just happened.

"Bless you. I'll get you a handkerchief as well."

She helped him out of his shirt. Blue eyes took in the scars that littered his torso. She had never seen this before, having never been permitted to see him shirtless. While she wanted to ask what had caused them, the last thing she wanted was him to discover the impropriety of her seeing him without his shirt.

Goosebumps rose on his skin as it mottled with cold. "Heh-hah- KETTSSCCHOO!" The force of the sneeze threw him forward violently and made him cry out as a sharp pain struck through his head.

"Oh, father, I'm sorry!" she cried out, catching his shoulder. She immediately bit her lip. He had made it clear that not only was he not her father, but he did not want to be called any such name.

Spasms kept him folded in on himself as he coughed harshly. He was only vaguely aware of Cosette being nearby.

Quickly, she ran up the stairs and pulled her last remaining blanket off her bed, along with the comforter off of the bed from the room Javert had been sleeping in.

"Here," she said, as she laid it over him.

"Cosette, handkerchief," he breathed as his breath started to hitch again.

"Right," she said as she started to leave the room again.

"Worthless," she heard him huff out as another violent sneeze overtook him.

She was back in moments. "I apologize, Javert," she said, handing it to him.

He blew his nose fully and coughed a bit. "My forgiveness," he whispered. "I ought never to have left. My angel…" His breath was labored and he felt as though something was pressing on his chest. "You are not ill?"

"No, Javert. I am quite well, thank you," she answered. Her papa on the other hand – he had not woken since Javert had left. She was certain that he was slipping away, but she could not figure out what to do to make him stay.

That bastard had lied. He had taken so much … his fidelity, his loyalty, his job.

"Cosette, were I nothing – would you still love me?"

The question was so odd that Cosette's first response was not to answer, but to press her hand on Javert's fevered brow. "You are everything. You make papa happy… keep me safe."

"Answer the question," he demanded his breathing getting more shallow as sleep started to overtake him.

"I will always love you – to the moon and back again," she whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead as sleep finally claimed him.


	6. Worse Than It Seemed

Cosette felt as though she were moving in a gray fog as the days moved by. She felt as though she was standing still and the days moved on around her. After a few such days, she couldn't recall the date or the time and just set to sleeping and eating while both men were asleep and caring for Javert whenever he awoke. Her papa had not woken in days, his breathing becoming so light that more than once she thought he had slipped away on her.

She sliced an apple and gave it to Javert, propping him up against the side of the couch. As he settled himself, she put a spoonful of honey in his tea.

"I sent word to the prefecture that you're ill. I don't want you to lose your position," she stated, as her heart beat hard in her chest. She had not been given permission to do such a thing. But, she didn't want anyone to think he had abandoned his post.

He nodded at her. "I, huh… " He brought his handkerchief to his face. "Keh-Hepllesssh! Husshoo!" After a few small sniffs he continued. "I highly doubt that anyone will be surprised that I am not at my post." He took a sip of the tea. His eyes flitted to the apples and he felt his stomach churn.

"Soup?" he asked, his voice lacking the usual accusatory tone.

She sighed and looked down. "I'm sorry, Javert. Food is running low. I just… found a few of these this morning." She felt shamed. How could she nurse her two men back to health if she couldn't even feed them enough to keep them alive?

Shame and guilt coursed through Javert. They were always so well provisioned that he never even considered the fact that it had been nearly a month since Jean was well enough to go to the market. Nor had he considered that it had been nearly two weeks since the markets were forbidden for fear of spreading the disease. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "There is money in my drawer," he stated. When he opened looked at his young ward, he noticed her eyes were like saucers. "What? Did you already find it?" Normally, he would be furious that she had stolen from him. But, he felt guilty that she had not felt secure enough with their relationship to take money for food. What kind of guardian was he?

He remembered the previous week when he had all but yelled that she was not anything except his ward. Not his friend, not his daughter – his ward.

"Heh-Eppsshhew!" He sneezed wetly, blowing his nose a bit at the end.

"Bless you," she said after a moment. "I can't go into your drawer. I'm not allowed."

Again, the responsibility that she carried as the lady of the house struck him. She was barely fourteen - old enough to do most things on her own, but with her past Jean had never allowed such a thing. She had been chastised enough by Javert himself to make her cautious about what she did and said even in her home. "You're allowed if the situation warrants… it… Hettsshhhew! Hasshhh!"

"Bless you again." She gave him a quick nod. "I'll not take much, I assure you," she said, rushing upstairs. If she did not do the shopping soon, they would run out of food by the week's end.

"Ugh," he groaned. His head pounded in protest as he wondered what she would consider to be 'much'. Heaven knew that food would be more scarce and therefore more expensive than it usually was. And, worse, he wondered where she would find such things. There was no market to be had.

He pushed himself up onto shaky legs. He could not let her go out into whatever chaos was outside their home alone. His fever be damned, he could not leave her alone to the world. She had lived her younger life like that and he condemned Fantine every day of his life for it. If he did the same, he would be no more of a person than she.

The world swam before him and he sat down quickly as his stomach lurched. He took a shaky breath. He was the great and powerful Inspector Javert. Since he had not yet been taken out of the house in chains, he wondered if the threat was just another one of the prefects lies.

When Cosette returned, he could barely hear the jingle in the pocket of her apron. She had taken far too little, he could tell. "Cosette, please get me a fresh uniform. And bring me the small coin purse in the back of the drawer."

"But, Javert… you can't be serious."

"I am," he snapped. He took a few congested breaths through his nose. In his youth he had worked through worse. Certainly he could accompany her to whatever sort of market might be available. "Please, I will accompany you, if you will attend to me." He sniffed, congestedly and groaned. "I don't have the strength to argue with you. Please simply do as asked."

"Yes, Javert," she said, although the whole idea made her feel ill with nerves. She had barely been able to get him in the house a few days earlier and her papa's health didn't really fail until about a week into the illness. She hoped that Javert was able to maintain his outward show of strength in public. She didn't mind him being weak and ill at home, of course. But, she didn't want to see him in a rage after someone saw him as such in public. It would hurt his reputation and his pride. Both of which he would protect at all costs.

She stopped by her father's bedside. "We're going out for a moment, papa. Just to the market for some food." She wiped his fevered brow with a wet cloth. The fever had been far too high for far too long, but she didn't know what to do. Once in a while, she could get him to drink a bit of tea, but he hadn't eaten anything solid in nearly a week. Javert hadn't asked about him and that worried her. Seldom were either so immersed in their own issues that they didn't at least inquire about the other.

Brown eyes pulled open with a groan. "Javert has returned?" he asked, his voice hoarse, causing him to clear his through harshly.

"He is quite ill. Truly, he should not attend me while we are out," she said honestly as though he were well.

She sat on the edge of the bed and guided a small amount of water into his mouth.

"Careful with him. Stay close," he rasped, taking another small sip. His head hurt dreadfully and his muscles screamed as though he were towing a ship through Toulon again.

He coughed congestedly, his chest feeling tight.

"Come, papa," she said, grunting as she forced him to sit up. "Cough that out. It's not good for it to stay there."

"No," he countered, laying back down. He put his hands on his diaphragm. "Push." He took as deep of a breath in and out as he could and motioned for her to push. As she did the congestion began to loosen and expel.

Cosette grimaced but was relieved. She quickly grabbed one of the handkerchiefs that she had not since imparted on Javert and helped him clean up.

ValJean took a deeper breath and felt the cold air fill spaces that had been compressed and warm for so long that the air caused him pain. He took a shuddering breath and coughed violently into a fit. More congestion released and Cosette pushed again.

He gasped and choked, sputtering against the new sensations in his lungs. When the spasm finally passed he smiled at Cosette. "Javert is right… you are an angel." He breathed out and fell back to sleep.

Cosette checked for a pulse as Javert had shown her weeks before. Her papa was not dead. At this point that was all she could ask. She collected the things that Javert had asked for and brought them downstairs.

Two hours later, Cosette and Javert were strolling through what had once been the market. Javert had drove the two horses into town, using their open fiacre. The task was something that he could do in his sleep, luckily, and Cosette supplied pleasant enough conversation to keep his mind alert but not taxed.

He paused, placing a hand on her shoulder and turning away from her. "Heh-Shhxxt!" he sneezed, stifling it into his handkerchief. "Oh by the stars," he breathed, sniffling wetly several times. "Hep-Cssssxxt!" He sniffed again as his head pounded in protest.

"Bless you." Her voice was small as a mouse's squeak. Too observant for her years, she took in the sight before her. What was once a bustling city center was littered with dead bodies, people having long since ransacked the carts and shops of the market.

"I shouldn't have brought you here," his voice was more of an irritated whine than the strong tone that she had become accustomed to.

"We need food," she reminded him.

He sniffed again, his grip on her shoulder tightening as though he were worried that someone would snatch her away when he wasn't looking. "Heh-Shhhessshh!" The sneeze was wetter and could not be restrained. "Come," he said, his voice but a croak. "I know of a place."

They drove to the outskirts of town nearly an hour to the north. Cosette smiled a bit as she recalled that there were orchards and farms up this way. Her papa had taken her several times when they were smaller.

A gentle hand rested on Javert's arm. "Do you need to rest?" she asked, as though she knew that he was having trouble keeping his eyes open and his thoughts focused. "I will watch over you," she offered, her voice gentle as an angel.

His mind immediately flashed to pillagers. It was not her job to protect him. It was his job to protect her. Just the thought of the energy it would take to protect her made his bones seem heavy with weariness. "Heh-Ashhhnoo! Guh… hah…uh… Asssshessh!" He blew his nose into his rapidly less useful handkerchief. "No," he grunted. "I'll be all right."

He took them to a farm with orchards of several varieties. "You go pick whatever you can carry. I'll leave them coinage that will pay for it." He hoped that the inhabitants were gone… or too ill to notice her. The last thing that he wanted was her to be shot at.

Luckily, he found that she could carry quite a bit and in far less time than he had anticipated, they had enough apples, Mirabelle plums, strawberries, and peaches to make a lovely summer soup. The wind was getting nippier, but beggers couldn't be choosers and he knew that she would do her best with what they had until meat could be procured again.

He jerked awake suddenly. When had he fallen asleep? Worse yet, Cosette seemed to not be anywhere near the fiacre. "Cosette?" he rasped, clearing his throat harshly to try to call for her.

"Look!" she said, coming up to him, her apron full f eggs. Those poor chickens hadn't been collected from in _ages_. Don't worry, I left a few coins to pay the owners." She nodded at him and gently put the eggs in the back.

Climbing up on the drivers bench, her heart clenched as she leaned over and kissed Javert on the cheek. He was burning hot. "We need to get you home," she said, her words dying on her lips as he looked at her.

The look was more awestruck than angry. She had kissed him. Kissed. Him. He had never done anything to invite or entice any sort of affection before.

She sit back, her shoulders pushing back a bit as she fidgeted under his gaze. Her chin tucked in. "'m sorry," she muttered.

_Sniff_. "Huck-Shoo! Esshhhh! Huh-Spllesshhh! Hah-Splxxt!" The sneezes ripped from him before he could do much but turn away and clasp his handkerchief over his face. The fit left him sniffling and panting for air. Even as he blew his nose, he could feel his mind trying to grasp onto something important. Something he was missing. Two more wet sniffles and then "HessxxxT! Oh... oh… Uh-huh… huh… Essshhhchhh!" The fit left him coughing and completely out of energy to do much but let the symptoms overtake him.

Several long minutes later, he was left panting, with Cosette sitting silently next to him. "Do you need me to drive home?" she asked, her voice strained with repressed emotion.

"No… I'll… oh… I'll get us there." His vision swam and head pounded.

Cosette scooted towards him just a smidge. "Show me how to drive the team," she implored, putting her hands over his.

He smiled, knowing what she was doing, but too weakened to let his pride get in the way. After another wet sniffle and a few puffed coughs, he let her help him drive the team home.


	7. Words Better Left Unsaid

"No… no… no…," Javert whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. Observant brown eyes slid to the young lady asleep in the chair next to him. The wash rag was still in her hand, as though she fell asleep sponging him down. The chest of his shift had been unbuttoned.

A tickle had exploded in his sinuses, waking him violently. He didn't want to sneeze and wake his young ward though. The child needed about as much sleep as he and ValJean did. He felt a lump of guilt in his chest as he realized he had no idea whether the young lady had been sleeping or eating – if she was in danger from the odd threat of ValJean or if they had sneezed on her in their sleep.

He remembered how disgusted he had been when ValJean sneezed on him. The hot, wet tongue of the prefect sliding in his mouth, down his neck. "Hur-Sssshhheeweww!" The harsh, wet sneeze ended in husky coughs.

"Oh…" he quiet voice barely infiltrated his mind as he suddenly felt as though his face was slipping forward. "Huh-Ettsccccheeew! Guh, by the stars…. Humpfffch!" A handkerchief was stuffed into his hand. He held it to his face and stifled three more harsh sneezes. "Ugh… oh," he breathed, settling back again. He relieved his nose in harsh honk and settled the back of his hand on his eyes.

"Rest, Javert. I'll get you some tea."

The voice barely penetrated through the pain in his head. He felt comfortable, safe. They weren't feelings he was used to having. A prickle of anxiety filled his chest and dissipated as his consciousness slipped into inky blackness.

_How am I not ill?_ Cosette thought. She had been eating and sleeping, but with both men so ill, she figured she should be dead like those children that were being clutched to their mother's chests when they went to the market. She shuddered as she thought of the gruesome scene that had been splayed before her. _What if no one survives but me? Where will I go?_ She thought of the orchard and wondered if that family survived or if she could survive there for a while.

Tears prickled at her eyes. She didn't want to leave home, but there wasn't much to eat nearby. She knew they had a small garden, but it hadn't yielded enough to feed her – let alone them – through the winter. She had never thought about how she could survive if there was no one left alive. With a deep breath she resolved not to let that happen.

She cocked her head as she heard her father coughing upstairs. With a stutter breath, she pulled out a few pieces of fruit and cut them up. She pumped fresh water and started to boil it for tea. She ran up the stairs and into his bedroom.

"You're awake!" she exclaimed, louder and more excited than she had intended.

"For Heaven's sake, Cosette, act like a lady not an urchin. Walk quietly. Speak like I'm ill… my head…" He broke into husky coughs again. "Hurhcccchhhh!" He sneezed wetly into cupped hands. More coughs followed, becoming more and more productive.

"Yes… yes… yes…" she urged him. "This is good, papa. This is good." She couldn't help but be excited.

She went to hand him a handkerchief but realized, belatedly, that she had forgotten to wash them. They were out.

"Ipecac," she whispered to herself, running to get their last bottle. Coming back in, she pulled out the wet rag from the basin. "Here, I know it's wet, but it'll help…" She poured him a spoonful of the ipecac and waited as he expelled the stuff in his chest for many minutes.

Afterwards, he took a clear deep breath. "Ow," he moaned, but he smiled at her. "That was brilliant," he whispered, his voice still hoarse.

"You don't think I'd let you go so easily, do you?" she teased, a hint of joviality in her voice.

"I wouldn't be so lucky," he huffed.

At the falling of her face he looked at her sadly. "Cosette, I didn't mean it," he said, rubbing the back of his hand against her cheek. It felt blessedly cool.

"Here's some peaches… I'm making tea," she said, her voice small. "I'll bring you some when it's ready. I'll go take care of Javert."

"How is he?" ValJean asked, his eyes imploring her to answer him.

"Feverish… in pain. Though it seems to have remained in his head… not settled in his chest, like yours. We went out for food and he remained up-."

"You what!?" he bellowed at her.

"I told you that, papa. Supplies were running low."

"And you made him go with you?"

"No!" she exclaimed defensively. "He insisted."

"And you let him? Sick as he is? What if someone saw him? What if his fever spiked and you couldn't get him home? Sometimes you just don't think. All you had to do was go while we were both asleep and no one would have cared!" He grunted angrily and turned his back on her.

"Papa…" she said, tentatively. She sat on the bed and gingerly touched his shoulder. His shift was soaked through. "Come, we should change your shift while you're awake."

"Get away from me. I need distance from you right now."

She pulled a fresh shift out of the dresser. "Just change your shift for me and I'll leave you be."

He grunted angrily as he snatched the shift from her hands. He changed it and shivered as the dry fabric covered his moistened skin. "Hurecchhhh!" he sneezed into a cupped hand. "Essshhh-Huh-Hurrcchhhh! Ugh…" He panted to catch his breath. "Handkerchief?" he asked Cosette.

"I'm sorry, papa. I will wash some," she said with resolve.

"Really?" he sniffled wetly, earning him another rough sneeze. Holding a hand in front of his nose he sniffled and added, "Because handkerchiefs are so difficult to wash."

"I forgot," she explained simply.

"Worthless," he grumbled, grabbing his soiled shift and blowing his nose quite unceremoniously.

"Yes, I know," she agreed, having heard Javert call her the same thing more than once. "But, I'll get you tea and fresh handkerchiefs soon."

He grumbled a thank you and she went back downstairs.

"Cosette?" Javert called to her as she came down the stairs.

She smiled her prettiest smile at him. "Yes? Papa's feeling much better."

"Yes, I heard," he responded without emotion. "You knew I was resting down here, yes?"

She had heard this tone of voice before, generally meaning his was in command mode. Her age, gender, and status meant nothing to him at the point. "Yes, sir." She swallowed, reflexively. The last time he had taken this tone with her, he had yelled at her so forcefully that her papa had to distract him and she had been afraid to come near him for weeks.

"So, why would you even consider – let alone actually – run up the stairs like a wild street urchin?"

"I just wanted to see if papa was all right," she answered.

"Hm. Yes, and I'm certain the noise helped him rest as well. Perhaps you were thinking of no one but yourself?"

"I – I… Yes, sir." She decided that arguing with him was only going to anger him more. "Don't worry, papa agrees with you."

He tilted his head up just a bit. "Meaning?"

"I was too loud and he feels I'm just as worthless as you do," she answered. "Speaking of which, let me get you tea and some fruit."

"Why don't you just make a summer soup? Truly, do you know how much I am not in the mood for eating anything, let alone fruit?"

She frowned a bit and nodded. "I'll do that. It just takes some time."

"Well," he snapped, "you best get to it then." He coughed harshly into his fist. "Handkerchief?" he wheezed out.

"I'm sorry," she said, hurrying away before he could see the tears in her eyes.

It took over an hour for her to come back in. But, when she did, she was well provisioned. She carried a tray laden with tea, handkerchiefs, sliced fruit and not quite moldy bread. She had also started the summer soup that he requested.

"Tea," she said, putting the steaming cup on the table.

Javert only looked back with her with distant eyes.

Crystalline blue eyes meeting his dark and distant ones, she put the tray back on the table. She placed a hand on his forehead and pulled a frown as she realized that his fever was rapidly climbing. "It'll be all right, Javert."

"Get off of me," he grumbled, jerking his head away from her. "Your hands are hot. That's the last thing I need…. I need…." He clasped both hands over his mouth. "Hurrccchhhaaa! Essshesshh! Har-ESCCHH!"

"Bless you," she offered.

"Guh," he looked at her over his hands, eyes scathing as ever. "Ehhh-Huh-… "

"Here," she said handing him the handkerchief.

"Har-ESSSHH! Essh! Huh-Guh-Hesshhoo!" Panting he blew into the handkerchief. He yelled, frustrated. He threw the handkerchief at her, but the fever was so high that he missed completely. "It's wet you strumpet."

His eyes widened as she slapped him across the face. Touching his cheek gingerly, he took in the girl who stood across from him, hands clasped over her mouth, backing away slowly.

"You hit me!" he yelled. "I'm your elder – your father's companion… and you _hit_ me!"

"You have no right to call me such things!" she exclaimed back. "All I've been trying to do is _help _you. If you don't want my help, I'll just leave you alone. You can take care of your ownself. But, I am my papa's daughter."

"Ward!" Javert yelled back. "You're his ward! Your father didn't want you." His blood ran cold the moment he had said it.

Tears fell down her face. "I don't know what happened then… but I know what…" She took a long stuttering breath before she ran out of the room.

He heard her hard footfalls on the stairs as she ran into her bedroom. "Dash it all, Javert!" he quietly chastised himself. He looked at the tray and felt his heart melt. Everything he could need to feel better was on it. He sat up, giving himself a moment to let his heart start and slow pounding. He picked up the handkerchiefs and made his way upstairs. This disease had pulled the family apart by the seams and left it in the albeit capable hands of a fourteen year old girl.

As he ascended the stairs, he was shocked by how well Cosette had managed over the preceding month. He was a difficult person to deal with under the best of circumstances. Ill, he was practically unbearable. And, yet, she had borne it. Her papa, always so kind when he was well showed glimmers of the animal he had been in Toulon when he was ill. Cosette had to have been dealing with that as well.

"HUR-Ssheeff!" he sneezed, catching it in his hand. His sniffed thickly and wished he would simply improve. He thanked the stars that he had not become so ill as ValJean, but it was nearly a week into his illness and he still felt too weak to be of any use. His time with the prefect had seemed like a lifetime ago.

Finally, he reached the top of the stairs. He leaned heavily against the wall – his muscles screaming in protest and his stomach threatening to rebel. Beads of sweat rolled into his eyes, but he was unwilling to give up. He had to talk to Jean. They had to help Cosette.

Sitting on the bed, he put a heavy hand on ValJean's shoulder. His skin was hot beneath his shift, but the shift itself was dry.

"Leave me alone. I don't forgive you," ValJean grumbled.

"The poor thing…" Javert grumbled. When had he become the kind hearted one? When he started seeing himself in her, he realized. With heavy pants he turned away from ValJean. "Hureeecchhhh! HuckSshoO!" He coughed wetly as he tended to his nose.

There was a soft rustling behind him.

"Javert?" the voice was hoarse, but concerned. Cosette had told him that Javert was in a bad way. He still felt as though he was on fire, himself. But, Javert never should have been allowed to leave his bed if he was ill.

A frustrated sigh. "Yes, I apologize for interrupting your sleep, but we have a problem."

"Cosette? I'm sorry she has failed us so completely," ValJean stated.

Javert prayed that Cosette was still in her room and had not heard any of it. "No, Jean. It's not that."

"And yet, you are here… not being cared for," Jean cut in.

"Because I was cruel to your daughter… "

A flame that had long since dulled behind ValJean's eyes sprung to life. "What did you do?"

A chill raced through Javert as he saw her backing away, her large blue eyes full of fear. "I took out my wrath on her… called her names…"

"You underestimate her," ValJean said. She has been called many things. She is strong."

"She did not deserve these things… and I … I don't know how to make amends." He sniffed again.

"I'm sorry you are ill… " he said, changing the subject. He didn't like that Javert had been mean to his daughter, of course. But, Cosette had been through worse than anything the two of them would do to her. He knew she would recover.

"It's not your fault. I was called to the prefecture… he was ill and… delirious." He was unable to look at his companion. His brown eyes fell on the bed between them as he felt his eye lids droop. The shame he had felt regarding Cosette was nothing compared to the guilt he felt for cheating on ValJean.

"What happened?" ValJean shifted so that he was facing Javert.

"He um… he kissed me. Twice. I didn't return the sentiment and I came back immediately. But, he was quite ill…" His voice trailed off as he felt the prefects tongue, wet and hot on his neck, in his mouth.

"Kissed you." ValJean said, processing. "And you wanted this?"

"No! I only want it from you. I swear." Javert felt like a heel – like the man-jack's that he sneered at in the street.

"At least Cosette loves me," ValJean grumbled.

"I love you too…," Javert admitted. He had not said it very often and certainly not in recent memory.

ValJean squinted as he looked Javert over. "You really are ill."

Javert covered his mouth with both of his hands as husky coughs barreled out.

ValJean reached a hand out. "What happened to your face?" He held his breath as his thumb lightly graced the red splotch on Javert's cheek.

"It's just part of the fever," he said, unwilling to tell ValJean that he had been struck by their young ward. He had deserved it, of course. "Oh… Jean, I feel dreadful."

"I would bear it for you, if I could," ValJean offered gently.

"You have borne enough for me. From me." His voice gave way into a whisper.

"What is it, Javert? What plagues your mind?" ValJean asked gently, showing more awareness than he had felt in weeks.

"I feel so ill… and Cosette… she is a good girl. But, I called her awful things. I truly hurt her tonight, Jean. She's been through so much… she didn't need to deal with my insults too." He shook as another chill raced through him.

"Cosette!?" ValJean bellowed, coughing harshly for the effort.

After a few moments she came shuffling in. She held a bunny rabbit that she slept with, but rarely left her bedroom in recent years. Her eyes and lips were swollen and her nose and cheek pink with tears.

ValJean looked between his companion and ward. _What on earth had happened here?_

"Cosette, I apologize. You… you are an angel. _My_ angel. I should never have called you those things." His voice was remorseful and he could feel congestion building back up in his head.

"No, it's all right," she answered, her voice thick with tears and her breath still hitching. "I should just know… I've been remiss in my duties and I deserve what I get. My apologies to both of you. Let me get you tea."

She went to leave but stopped, holding the bunny extra close to her chest. "Javert, I know the doctor said that you shouldn't share a bed, but at this point, I believe it would be much better if you did. I'll get the tray." Her voice was quiet, hurt.

"She doesn't believe me," Javert said as he strained to hear her quiet steps on the stairs.

"What did you say?" ValJean asked, truly curious.

"I yelled at her and told her she wasn't your daughter, that she was merely a ward." He sniffed thickly.

"Oh, Javert. How could you? The only love the child has ever known has been from us. Now she'll doubt that as well." A chill raced through him and he began to feel exhausted again.

Javert stifled a sneeze as he got into bed. "I know. I just… I lost control." He yawned widely. "Forgive me…" he whispered to no one in particular as sleep overtook him.


	8. The Angels Angel

Cosette sat downstairs for several hours, clutching her bunny to her chest. She had been thinking about how wonderful things had been with the two men that she considered her father and guardian. Her papa was always her Christmas miracle and she wanted to be perfect for him. She remained soft spoken as much as she could and tried not to make him cross. Javert was clear in his life's choice to not have children in his life. He was always kind enough to her – he didn't beat her or lock her in closets. He didn't curse at her or treat her like she didn't exist.

They were ill. Very ill. With a disease that caused horrors that haunted her. The dead people in the streets. Children screaming for their mothers. She heard their calls in her head whenever she tried to sleep. She thought back to the orchard and wondered, again, what had happened to that family. She wondered if their parents put themselves ahead of the children, like her papa's did, or if they sent their children into town like she was willing to do. She wondered what it would have been like to have food whenever she wanted… to not have to worry about where or what to buy and be able to stockpile for winter.

She heard her papa coughing in his sleep and winced. There had to be some way to care for them that did not irritate them so. That was it! She had read stories of fairy nurses, so good at their jobs that they were scarcely ever seen. Javert called her his angel. Her papa had taught her that fairies really existed. Of course!

She toed off her shoes and slipped them under a chair. Her stockings slipped awkwardly on the floor and she smiled as she poured tea and water for the two men. She could do this. She could care for them without them ever knowing she was there.

She tip toed up the stairs, wincing whenever the stairs creaked. She concentrated on not letting the tray in her hands rattle. Her toes gripped the stairs beneath her feet as her stockings made her slip on the wood floors. Falling was not an option. She took a deep breath and blew out Javert's insult. He didn't mean it. He probably wouldn't even remember it. Besides, she had been called worse. And she had been lucky that he didn't strike her back or hit her with his belt in retaliation for her slap.

Of course, he had never raised a hand to her before, she thought as she put the tray down on the credenza. Neither he or her papa had ever given her so much as a slap on the behind. Her heart fluttered guiltily and she knew that she would have to beg for Javert's forgiveness for laying an unkind hand on him. He had never laid one on her and so the action was uncalled for. Callous even.

She pressed a cool hand to her papa's head, and frowned. His forehead was dry, but burning hot. He was dehydrating. She thought about the last time he ate, and made the mental note to go get him some broth instead of tea. He needed some of the summer soup. He needed something real in his stomach.

She startled as he mumbled something and flinched away from her. She hummed his favorite song gently. She didn't know the words to it, but he would hum it during better times. After she had hummed a few bars, he stilled. "I love you, papa," she whispered, pushing a few strands of hair that had gotten caught in his stubble off his face. She wished she knew how to shave him. He had been clean shaven until he had fallen ill. She didn't like him to look straggly. He deserved better. She wished she could be better for him.

She tested Javert's forehead the same way and was pleased that while it was hot, his skin was still moist. She winced as his glass of water clacked on his end table.

She held her breath and watched as his eyes squeezed together and then pulled open sleepily His deep brown eyes were still glazed with fever. "Cosette," his whispered. He reached a shaky hand towards her, but she stepped back. Guilt gripped his heart, although he wasn't quite sure why. Moreso, he wasn't quite sure why his angel was backing away from him. "Are you my angel?" he asked, ready for her normal answer.

"No," she responded, her eyes brimming with tears. She had struck an ill man. She had struck her guardian. She wasn't his angel. She was no one's angel. A product of the Thenardier's at the core, despite the kindness and goodness that her papa and Javert couched her in.

He took a quick intake of breath and coughed harshly. He looked at her, hurt. "Why?" he asked, his voice full of betrayal.

"I am Cosette's angel," she responded, still ashamed that she had been caught.

He nodded as though he understood. "She deserves an angel. Putting up with me… caring for," he coughed again. The coughing was relentless and hot tears started to drip down his fever stained cheeks.

"Come," Cosette said, lifting up on his shoulder. She helped him sit up and sat on the edge of the bed, allowing him to lean on her. "Shh…" she hushed him, digging her feet into the floor as he leaned against her. He outweighed her by a good deal, and she knew that he would have to feel dreadful in order to actually lean on her. "Here," she handed him the glass of water and smiled as he drank it down.

He sighed heavily as he handed the glass back to her. "She deserves an angel, you know… someone to take care of her." He turned to Cosette, his eyes showing the deep remorse he was feeling. The fever had lowered his emotional shields and he bared his soul in a way that she had only seen rarely. "Tell her… please… let her know… that I am so sorry… that I didn't mean to hurt her. That I love her."

"She won't believe you," Cosette said. Pressing her lips together, she let him know exactly what she was feeling. "She won't believe that you love her. She knows you only put up with her."

"That's not true!" he retorted. "I love her. I don't say it, but I – I show it. I need her to know that she is safe with me. Please I won't…" A strong shiver shook him violently.

She stroked the side of his face as she shushed him. "She feels safe with you. She loves you… trusts you. She knows that you care… you helped her find food even though you were truly too ill to leave the house. You've put yourself in harms way for her."

"You've been watching," he said, his voice full of sorrow. He bowed his head down and crossed himself as though he was beginning to pray. "Please forgive me for my trespasses against her. Please watch over her as she has for us. Please let her know that I do not hate her… nor do I dislike her. I know I am harsher than she deserves." He sneezed heavily into a cupped hand. "I left when she needed me the most. I came back… too late perhaps."

"Javert, you put too much on yourself. Cosette can handle it," she said, getting choked up. He was praying to her as though she was a heavenly being. She felt like an imposter. "Cosette loves you."

"But am I deserving?"

She nodded. "Forgive her for her trespasses, as she forgives you for trespasses against her."

He bit back a sob. "I called her an awful thing," he confessed.

"And was raised to be that awful thing. But, she's not…" her voice failed her. She was raised to seduce Javert, in fact. It was going to be the best con that the Thenardier's pulled. She didn't want to sell herself for money. Especially not to the handsome policeman who came by and left her scraps. She felt a cold shiver trace down her arms.

"No, she isn't… please tell her I know," he begged. "Please."

"Will you care for her when her papa dies?" she asked, still worried about it becoming a reality. Her papa had been so sure.

"What?" He turned to his companion who was sleeping soundly. "When?"

"When it happens. Will you care for her or will you turn her out?" She swallowed so thickly that she made an audible gulp.

"I will care for her. She will want for more than she does now. But, I will not turn her away." He yawned deeply and looked her over. "You look so much like her. Except your voice – you're too bold to be my angel."

She helped him lay back down and tucked him in. "That's because I'm hers," she answered, turning down the gas to the lantern sconce and watching over him until he drifted back to sleep.


End file.
